


blurred lines

by komkommertijd



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Acting, Alcohol, Characters Reading Fanfiction, Christmas Party, Drunken Shenanigans, Except they're all fully clothed so it's no fun, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing ... or not?, M/M, Ode to the fanfic writers, Set after the 2020 Abu Dhabi GP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komkommertijd/pseuds/komkommertijd
Summary: “Lando, do you know what fanfiction is?”Out of all the people present, Max would not have expected Lewis to be the one asking that question, loud enough for the others to hear over the music, all eyes turning to look at Lando, whose cheeks heat up with all the attention on him. He knows, of course, he does, because Lando knows too much and gets in trouble for it all the damn time.OrAnother fic about the drivers reading fanfiction.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen, Lando Norris/Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton/George Russell, Lewis Hamilton/Nico Rosberg, Michael Italiano/Daniel Ricciardo, Michael Italiano/Lando Norris, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon
Comments: 14
Kudos: 166





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**Author's Note:**

> Merry belated Christmas everyone! With the hectic holidays, I was not able to finish the story on time as I would've liked but it's here now so I hope you can all still enjoy it.
> 
> I had this idea one night and asked some friends of mine on Discord to send me suggestions of what kind of chaos could ensue, so a very big thank you, and at least the bigger part of the credits go to them - I could've done it without you but it wouldn't have turned out the way it has. Once again, mille grazie to the gang for all the excited yelling.
> 
> I tried to take precautions by tagging every single pairing that appears in this fic just to make sure and I really hope that I haven't missed anyone, seeing as this is quite the disaster. I hope it's still enjoyable even if some things may not make sense after getting lost in 7k of havoc.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you will enjoy it nevertheless. Have fun reading <3
> 
> DISCLAIMER: None of the fics mentioned in this story are based on real fics (or at least none that I am aware of). If anything sounds similar to a fic you have previously written yourself, please understand that I'm not making fun of your work in any way here. All of those are just random thoughts and ideas or reoccurring topics, with some of them based on suggestions made by my friends. I respect everyone's work so much and it is not my intention to hurt anyone.

The ridiculous Santa hat that Daniel has forced him to wear is slowly making him sweat, scratching his forehead in a highly uncomfortable way but Max really has a hard time saying no when Daniel looks so happy, shoving the hat in his face for five minutes with a mantra about how it would be cool if they matched, and he's persistent, so it's easier to give in with a sigh and an eye roll, and endure Lando happily yelling than to watch Daniel mope all evening.

It's too warm in Dubai for Max's tastes, clothes clinging to his skin even now that it's late and the sun has long disappeared behind the skyscrapers. It's cold and rainy at home and it's Christmas, he still hasn't gotten used to spending parts of December in shorts and polo shirts with the team branding on it, despite it being a hardly wavering constant in his life for the past few years.

Charles is wearing some tacky shorts when they arrive on the rooftop, and it makes Max feel a bit less ridiculous, leaving Daniel to swoon over the ugly piece of clothing while he greets the others on his way to get some alcohol. He's not going to survive this party without being at least slightly tipsy, or so he argues when he cracks open a can of beer from a brand he doesn't recognize and takes the first sip, holding on to the sweaty can when he leans against the handrail and gazes into the night, skyscrapers growing like sleek giants in the city and illuminating the streets, all different kinds of colors reflecting in the glass of his watch. It's only 10 pm, this is going to be a long night.

It barely takes an hour until everyone has consumed at least some alcohol, even Lando, who's barely old enough to drink in the Emirates. He's sitting by the pool with his feet dangling in the water, showing something to Alex on his phone and laughing so hard that Max wouldn't be surprised if he dropped his phone in the pool. It makes him feel a bit weird though, like he's not really participating, the only person who's on their own with no one to talk to.

Lewis is talking to George and Daniel, who's gesturing wildly, the way he usually does, Charles and Pierre are laughing together, even Esteban found a way to integrate himself, talking to the hotel staff member by the bar. Great, now Max can't even get another beer without having to interact with him. He sighs, makes his way over to the lounge area, and fumbles with the fabric of the pillow next to him.

“Lando, do you know what fanfiction is?”

Out of all the people present, Max would not have expected Lewis to be the one asking that question, loud enough for the others to hear over the music, all eyes turning to look at Lando, whose cheeks heat up with all the attention on him. He knows, of course, he does, because Lando knows too much and gets in trouble for it all the damn time.

“Why?” he replies lamely, taking way too long to come up with that.

“Racing Point posted about it on Twitter,” George adds, smiling sweetly, knowing that he's not helping Lando's case at all. Lando glares at him, so briefly that Max is sure that he would have missed it if he blinked.

“It's … hard to explain,” he begins, and Lewis eyes him curiously, “Basically it's fictional work written by fans about celebrities or books or whatever.”

“Racing Point mentioned it because, you know, people write about us as well. Sometimes,” Max adds and feels strangely calm when all eyes turn to look at him now. Even Charles looks confused and Max is pretty sure that he's at least heard about fanfiction before. They all have, in a way or another that they wouldn't recognize as fanfiction even if Max hit them in the face with it. He sighs and takes another sip of beer to get rid of the stale taste of Fifty Shades of Grey on his tongue before he puts the can down on the table.

“So, what do they write about?”

And slowly Max is beginning to feel like he himself is stuck in a fanfiction, or the beer is stronger than expected. Lewis frowns and makes his way over to the lounge area, sitting down at the other end, Daniel and George following him, which ends in all of them gathering around Max, minus Lando and Alex, who simply sit closer to the group with their legs still in the pool. Daniel moves into Max's personal space, hooking his head over Max's shoulder to look at his phone screen while he scrolls through the google search results and clicks on the next best link he finds.

The website takes a while to load and then he's faced with Formula One RPF and Daniel is way too close, his Santa hat sticking to Max's cheek while he scans the page and frowns. He smells like Bacardi, which is the most basic choice for a drink, and reminds Max of stereotypical yacht parties. It tastes like pool water, too, but Daniel's taste has always been weird. He doesn't even care about what Daniel chooses to drink or not but his brain jumps on the first best distraction from the issue at hand that it can get.

Once he's clicked away from the terms of conditions, he begins scrolling through the possibilities he's presented with, scrunching his nose at some of the tags and pairings, until his eyes get stuck on one story, finger hovering over the screen hesitantly, until Dan shuffles next to him and clicks on it himself.

“It's about Pierre and Charles,” he announces and Max wants for the floor to open up and swallow him whole, the feeling only amplified even more by the noise Charles makes from where he's sitting between George and Esteban. He looks at Pierre and exchanges a glance with him that radiates fear, but then Pierre shrugs and can't keep his smile down any longer, so Max scrolls past the tags and the notes, and stares at the text, uncertain.

Daniel removes the phone from his hands, which earns him protest at first until Max realizes that at least he doesn't have to read it out loud that way, and calms down. Daniel is gone from his personal space, reading the first lines as if he's reading out some acceptance letter from an Ivy League university. Max still feels way too warm, reaches for his beer, and suffers in silence while Daniel reads about Charles wearing a dress, which scarily barely bothers the other driver. He doesn't say anything about it and Pierre stares at the pool, eyes out of focus, as if he's really regretting showing up to the party.

“Okay, nope, thanks Daniel, that's enough,” Charles interrupts when Daniel so much as dares to read the word dick out loud for the first time and leans across the laps of the people sitting between them, reaching out to take the phone away. George pulls him back to where he's originally been sitting with a grin on his face and Charles looks like he's about to strangle him.

“Keep going, I want to know what happens next,” he says, which earns him loud protest from Pierre and exaggerated laughter from Daniel, who holds the phone out of reach for the others. Max takes it from him with a sigh, it's still his phone, after all, and taps back to the overview, scrolling until he finds another Charles-related story for them to read, in hopes of calming them down a bit. He hands the phone back to Daniel before he gets up, taking his almost empty can of beer with him and downing the rest on his way to the bar.

When he returns and sits back down at his old spot, placing the Gin Tonic on the table carefully as to not distract the others, it has gotten a lot quieter. Daniel is reading, something about Charles's life, apparently, and everyone's staring at him with a rather unreadable expression. Max listens to him read about the hardships that racing brings with it, as imagined by the fans, and while it's not entirely accurate, Max frowns and nods along with some things Daniel reads. He's not a professional when it comes to literature, but it's well written and it makes his heart ache slightly for a Charles that has never and will never exist in the way he's portrayed there.

“Why do people think I'm a sad hoe?” Charles asks when Daniel is done reading, and Esteban laughs, which earns him a glare from Charles, and agreement from everyone else.

“Mate, have you ever heard yourself talk or do literally anything before?” Lando asks in return. Max has almost forgotten about him and Alex by the pool. Charles glares at him and crosses his arms in front of his chest, his expression only really lighting up when Lewis wordlessly hands him a glass of what Max suspects to be vodka Red Bull. The smell would make him nauseous if he was sitting any closer to Charles.

“Alright kids, we need more action,” Esteban declares and takes the phone from Daniel to keep scrolling while Pierre gets up to get all of them another round of drinks. Max gets a very bad feeling when Esteban stops and smiles widely.

“This one's about Max and Daniel,” he announces, and Max feels the blood in his veins run cold. He could've seen that coming but he didn't, too focussed on making fun of Charles. It's always funny until it's about oneself, he supposes and takes a big gulp of his drink. His head is still too clear to cope with it though, so Daniel hands him the Bacardi to heighten the dosage slightly, which doesn't do much but Max appreciates the attempt.

It's explicit, to say the least, and Max feels his entire face heat up and his heartbeat quicken because God, this is embarrassing, especially since Daniel is sitting right next to him, and Max is suddenly hyperaware of the way their legs are touching. Daniel seems invested though, which is a million times worse than Max's reaction. He's never craved oblivion as much as he does now but at least there's no dress involved.

“Wait, that makes no sense,” Lewis interrupts and Max is about to thank him but, oh nevermind.

“It said that Max put both his arms around Daniel's neck and how his hand-”

“Where did your third hand come from, Max, I need answers,” Lando joins in and giggles like a maniac. Alex gently punches his shoulder and Max wishes to repeat that gesture with a bit more force but decides to fuck it, not literally though. He shrugs and gets up from the couch, holding his hand out to Daniel, who looks at his hand first and then at his face with a confused expression, until Max rolls his eyes and takes his hand to pull him up.

“Alright, so where do my hands go?” and the way Daniel's eyes widen is almost comical.

“Around his neck, like you're trying to kiss him,” Charles, who's loving this way too much, instructs, and Max raises his eyebrows at Daniel, giving him a last chance to chicken out before he does as he's told and involuntarily pulls Daniel closer that way.

“Daniel, pick him up.”

“What?”

“Just put your hands-”

“I know how to pick someone up, Charles.”

He quietly apologizes in advance for the possibility of dropping Max, who swallows the lump in his throat and tries making the whole thing a bit easier for Daniel by jumping up a bit. They manage somehow, and it's so goddamn weird that Max starts laughing, holding on to Daniel a bit more tightly, now actually scared of being dropped, and Daniel snorts, telling the others to hurry up before Max gets too heavy for him.

“You good?” he whispers while Esteban and Charles argue about the unclear instructions of the fic, and Max nods and doesn't quite know why that makes his heart ache.

“His arms tighten around Daniel's neck,” Esteban reads and Max does as he's told, watching Lando down his beverage in one go, apparently just as overwhelmed by what's happening right now.

“And now it says that Max does some weird shit with Daniel's hair, but how does he do that with both arms around his neck?”

“Like this maybe,” Max suggests and keeps one arm wrapped around Daniel's neck, angling his other arm up to touch Daniel's hair. It should feel weird, touching his ex-teammates hair like this, but then again he's got his hands on his thighs and his own legs wrapped around his waist already, so it's not really a shocker anymore.

“That doesn't really count, your arms have to be wrapped around his neck still.”

“So it's impossible. Are you happy Lewis? Max is getting heavy.”

“Hey, I worked hard on this physique, dickhead,” Max retorts and slaps Daniel's shoulder, which backfires terribly when the other driver carries him closer to the edge of the pool, daring him to repeat the last word. Max lets out a very manly squeal and holds on tighter again. When Lewis agrees from the sidelines, Daniel drops Max back down on the ground with a “but no homo, mate,” and winks at him before letting go, walking back to sit on his empty spot on the couch.

“I would never let you bang me against a glass wall, just to make that clear,” Max says when he drops back down on the couch as well and reaches for his glass again. Daniel smiles and takes his own glass from where he's placed it next to Max's earlier, clinking their glasses together before taking a sip. Max's ears are still hot and red underneath his Santa hat when he tips his head back to empty the glass.

“Oh look, there's something about Alex,” Pierre points out when Esteban goes back to the main page and scrolls, which is met with a reason as to why they shouldn't read this by Alex, who hides his face in his hands and keeps murmuring to himself while Pierre takes the phone, Max doesn't really know whether he'll ever get it back, and Lewis leaves to get something else to drink, shaking his head as he goes.

“This one's about...Lando and Charles?”

Max watches Lando's head snap up from where he's directed his attention at the pool, eyes widening as Pierre announces the tags. Charles is frowning, apparently just as confused as Lando.

“But why us?”

“I mean, I can see it,” Esteban replies and shrugs, sending a guilty smile in Charles's direction when he glares at the other driver, not amused by the situation.

“And what even is 'omegaverse'?”

“Do we really want to know?” Lewis chimes in, placing a bottle of champagne on the table before he sits back down. Max watches him and has a feeling that he's probably right and they'll regret looking it up. Unfortunately, that doesn't keep Esteban from pulling out his own phone and typing the mentioned tag into the Google search bar.

“L'Omégaverse est un univers du genre Boy's Love... Les hommes ont aussi la particularité de pouvoir donner naissance à un enfant,” Esteban reads out, probably not loud enough for all of them to understand, not that they would understand it either way, but loud enough for Pierre to catch up on it and frown, first in confusion and then, apparently, in horror.

“I don't think we should read that,” he therefore declares and scrolls past the story, while Charles still looks like his brain isn't quite catching up to what is going on.

“I have so many questions, and not about why Lando and I apparently can make babies,” he's interrupted by a scream of horror that Max identifies as Lando's, “but rather about why it is Lando and me in the first place. I don't get it, why us?”

“I mean, Max and Daniel makes sense, I can see where they're coming from, but why us?”

“Because fans like the imagination of you two together, apparently. There's something about Lewis and George as well,” Pierre replies, which prompts George to reach across Charles, ignoring his ongoing protest to take a look at the matter himself. Instead of the state of denial that Charles has gone into, his eyes flick across the page and he hums quietly, nodding once or twice before he hands the phone back to Pierre.

“It's well written and the explicit part actually makes sense for once, I'm surprised,” he says, which causes Lando and Charles to look at him as if he's gone crazy, simply because he's not losing his mind over a fictional story. He handles it the most relaxed, other than Daniel, that is, and smiles at Lewis, who's sipping his champagne as if nothing has happened.

“Although I probably wouldn't suck your dick after the first date, there's no way a date could be _that_ good.”

“Fair enough,” Lewis says with a shrug and smiles at the way Charles rubs his face in despair. Max is holding back his own amusement for the sake of stealing some of Daniel's pool water Bacardi, which doesn't go by unnoticed, but Daniel is seemingly past the point of caring on all levels.

It takes another ten minutes until Max finally gets his phone back, although briefly, and he uses the chance to look at himself in the camera to fix his Santa hat. Daniel has placed his own on Charles's head, who's still suffering between George and Pierre, and he's laughing loudly at some weird unfunny joke Lando has made. Max doesn't really pay attention, fiddling with his phone and absentmindedly watching Daniel's hands move as he talks.

“Alright ladies, this says Brocedes, and I'm intrigued,” is what snaps him out of his trance, and Max has no clue how Esteban has gotten his hands on his phone again, face illuminated by the bright screen, mischief glinting in his eyes. Max sighs and refills his glass with whatever he finds on the table. It tastes bitter and burns down his throat, but the buzz is comfortable and lets him forget about the way too warm weather and the stupid fanfictions and the way Daniel's thigh still presses against his own for at least a little while until Esteban's voice cuts through the blur as he reads.

“Why is Nico the bad guy in this? I feel bad for him,” Lando says, relatively unfazed by Alex's meltdown next to him. George snorts and turns to look at Lewis, whose expression Max can't really read, his incompetence probably enhanced by the alcohol in his blood and the evening heat that still lingers in the city.

“Whoever wrote this is right though, he broke my heart!” Lewis complains, taking a sip of his champagne. The view is a rare aesthetic Max can't put into words and Daniel hums knowingly next to him.

“Metaphorically, of course.”

“Yeah, obviously,” George says, with sarcasm dripping in his voice, before he leans towards the table to retrieve his glass and down the liquor in one go. Daniel meets Max's eyes while George refills his glass, a questioning glance, probably less playful than either of them should be right now. Max shrugs and takes a sip, not quite sure whether it's actually from his own glass or someone else's, and somehow he ends up closer to Daniel when he leans back to relax.

His stomach does something weird when Daniel stretches and moves his arm to lay on the backrest behind Max, and Max swallows and briefly wonders how much alcohol he must have consumed for him to feel this much on edge all of a sudden. He remains in his current position and eyes Daniel carefully as the other driver turns back to look at Lewis and George again. Charles gets up to get himself more to drink, not fancying the champagne on the table, and he puts the Santa hat back on Daniel's head. Max's fingers itch with the need to fix its crooked position.

“Hey Lando, what about that story about Max fucking you on a table?” George suggests, and the mention of his name forces Max to participate in the conversation again.

“Oh yeah, I've read that one before,” is his dry reply but Max doesn't know how serious his answer really is and at this point, he's too afraid to ask, in case Lando's answer is one he would inevitably think about before being able to fall asleep that night.

“How would that even be possible? That position doesn't really sound comfortable, it's a coffee table,” Pierre adds, eyes focussed on the screen, a slight frown knitting his eyebrows together. Max looks at Lando and finds him already looking back, the tip of his ears turning a pale shade of red. Max raises his eyebrows and smiles, and Lando sighs when he finally removes himself from the pool, drying off his feet before walking over to the lounge area.

Daniel, who sees the next step coming, gets up to make space on the table, taking off some glasses and handing the champagne to Lewis, who places the bottle in a safe distance. There are still some shot glasses there, which Max fills with Daniel's rum of choice, handing one to Lando and clinking them together before he downs it in one go, mimicked by Lando, who briefly scrunches his nose. They both hand their glasses to Daniel, exchanging one last smile, and then Lando instructs George to read out loud.

They end up with Lando on his knees in front of the small table with Max behind him, gently pressing his hand against Lando's hot neck and urging him to lean down until his chest rests on the table, hand still on the back of his neck, feeling him tremble with leftover nervousness. He feels guilty but Lando's determined and Max knows that he'd voice his concerns if he was seriously uncomfortable. George reads some more and Max puts his other hand on Lando's hip, in a way that neither of them should be okay with, but bless the magic powers of alcohol.

“Where do my hands go?” Lando interrupts, repeating his question when George asks him to in confusion. His arms are currently hanging off the table in a way that can't really be comfortable, and Max lets go of him to give them both a chance to relax. Everyone on the couch thinks about it for a quiet second, even Charles, who looks like his brain isn't actually working anymore.

“I don't know, on the table? Maybe grabbing the edge or something.”

Lando does that and Max puts his own hands back where they were before, and it still doesn't look that much better. Lando huffs underneath him when Esteban suggests for Max to hold his wrists together behind his back, arguing that it would probably say that in the text if Max was supposed to do that.

They figure out a position that is more or less okay for both of them, minus the way their knees sting from kneeling for so long on the hard ground. Pierre comments on how neither of them would last that long anyway in practice, which Max ignores and Lando punishes with a glare. What neither of them sees coming is the new arrival on the rooftop.

It gets silent around them though, and when Max looks away from Pierre, he's staring right at none other than Sebastian Vettel, who has presumably stopped in his tracks upon the view he's been presented with. If Max was him, he wouldn't have seen this coming either, it doesn't happen that often that Max Verstappen bends random people over tables, and his best friend even less so.

“Alright Lewis, let's go,” he finally breaks the silence and hurries to grab a hold of the other driver to drag him away and save him from the chaos, while Lewis can't help but laugh and helplessly shrug at the others. Lando makes a noise and Max realizes how his grip has tightened around the back of Lando's neck, quietly apologizing as he lets go again while the shock wears off.

“I bet there are stories about Seb and Lewis too,” Charles says while he jumps up from his spot on the couch. “Wait Seb, come back, let's try this!”

Sebastian's not having that though, as the look of horror on his face tells Max, so instead of giving in to Charles's enthusiasm, he shakes his head and leaves. It's silent for another second after that, before Alex gets up and, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, speaks up.

“Don't leave me alone with those maniacs!” he yells and hastily dries his feet off, putting on his shoes without tying them before he runs after the pair. He really must be that desperate, Max thinks, and Esteban laughs so hard behind them, that he has trouble breathing. Max snorts with amusement and turns his attention back to Lando.

“Alright, get off, my knees hurt,” Lando complains after another minute and Max is glad to remove himself from the uncomfortable position, standing back up and shaking out his legs to get rid of the stinging pain. His ears feel hot and his head is swimming, and he thinks that he would probably even do this Esteban now if someone asked him to, all inhibitions gone, washed away by the alcohol in his blood and Lando's laughter when he takes Lewis's old spot on the couch.

Someone who's not willing to do this with Esteban though is Pierre. When George suggests a fanfiction with both of them in it, he jumps off the couch as if he's been sitting on hot coals, and Esteban starts rambling out excuses, voice pitched at least half an octave higher than normal. Charles laughs so hard that he almost falls down to the floor, while George yells about how they're basically only holding hands and kissing once in that story, which makes Pierre let out a cry of despair.

Daniel rolls his eyes, sharing a grin with Max before he punches Esteban's shoulder, calming him down and distracting him from the French Feud with the pain. Pierre sits back down, though he moves closer to Charles than before to enlargen the distance to Esteban, who's still rubbing his arms with a faked pout on his lips. Max needs more alcohol, and he needs it now.

“There's more Daniel and Max porn!” Charles interrupts the general bad mood, which makes Daniel laugh and Max sigh in despair, while George begins to read. The setting of the entire thing is the same sketchy old shit about hotel rooms and the inability to communicate properly, and Max would probably feel called out if he wasn't aware of the fact that all of this was fictional. Which it clearly is, because Max has never and will never go to Daniel to engage in sexual activities, or at least that's currently not on his bucket list.

He tries watching Daniel from the side, as casually as he possibly can in the state he's in. The collar of the shirt he's wearing used to be loose but it feels tight around his neck now, his fingers are tingly, and he feels like he's overheating, sweating more than even the lingering warmth could normally make him. Daniel looks at ease, with a gentle smile on his lips, eyes trained on Charles and George with that little glint that signalizes that he's actually paying attention, fascinated by the topic of conversation, even if it's him screwing his former teammate. Max's eyes get stuck on a mole on his neck, on the corner of his upper canine when he laughs at a dumb comment from Lando.

“Why is it always Dan fucking me and not the other way around though?” he interrupts and feels the sweating intensify when all eyes turn to look at him.

“Mate,” Daniel says, and it almost sounds like _come on, it's obvious_.

“Should I tell him or will you?” Lando asks and Max grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Daniel is giggling like an idiot next to him before he pats Max's shoulder, an awkward motion like he's crying and Daniel doesn't know how to comfort him. He swats his hand away and it's warm and Max feels jittery, blames it on the pool water rum.

“At least you get to top in the stories with Lando or Charles,” George starts an attempt at cheering him up, only to make Lando and Charles reply with “not always though” in unison. Pierre snorts and promptly gets hit by Charles. He can't escape the punishment with how he'd have to move closer to Esteban though, and Max wants to roll his eyes for the millionth time that night for their child-like behavior.

The story ends in sad love confessions and Daniel dramatically acting out his last monologue while Max sips some undefinable beverage, it might as well be water, he's past the point of caring, and Lando laughs so hard that he tears up. He's probably the soberest one out of them, but he also has the humor of a five-year-old, which fits Daniel's idiocy just right, so Max lets him cry tears of laughter, internally telling himself that he won't save him should he suffocate because he's laughing too hard to breathe properly.

“Oh my God,” Charles exclaimed, English even more slurred than usual with the alcohol slowly settling in, and he's back on the phone, “there are stories about Michael.”

Daniel stops laughing at Lando's breakdown at that and frowns, staring wordlessly while everyone stares back. The silence stretches out so long that Max begins to think that he might have zoned out and the conversation has long moved on, but then Daniel gets up from the couch with a little jump to the motion and tells them all to wait while he leaves to make Michael join them. Esteban hides his face behind his hands and mutters something about how it's really time for them all to go to sleep, and for once, Max is very close to agreeing with him.

He doesn't hate Esteban with a passion, he truly doesn't. Not in the way Pierre seems to do it anyway, or at least they're both too proud and stubborn to move past that, but people seem to like to portray things that way. It's still fiction, he thinks and shrugs, taking another sip from a glass that could be his own. If people got off on their made-up feud, he couldn't keep them from doing so either way.

It takes no more than five minutes for Daniel to return, smiling widely while Michael trails behind him with an expression that looks like a mixture of despair and regret to Max. Sometimes, he feels bad for everything the poor man has to put up with, but then again, he's getting paid for the suffering. He sits down next to Lando, who smiles but still moves closer to George, and Max would make fun of his intimidation if he couldn't somewhat relate to that. Michael could be intimidating if he wanted to, not that it happened often.

“So what's the deal with those fanfictions?”

Don't open that can of worms again, Max wants to say but doesn't. Pierre is faster and repeats the definition from earlier, and Max is surprised that he still remembers it. He's lost count of how many champagne glasses the other driver has downed throughout the evening that has somehow turned from an end of the season Christmas party into a high school sleepover with alcohol.

Max takes more small sips from his glass and watches Daniel and Michael acting out another weird scene on the other side of the table across the rim of the glass. They're both laughing now, even if Michael seemed rather confused by the entire thing at first, and Max wishes he could be this much at ease with someone in their group. Sure, the entire thing with Lando earlier happened but that required more confidence, courage, and alcohol than Max would like to admit.

Michael, who's sober, as far as Max knows, almost loses his balance and simply laughs even harder, saying something about how “this isn't fucking Twister, mate,” when Daniel lifts his arm and almost falls over while he tries to get into position. Michael catches him in time and shakes his head, simultaneously trying to figure out how what's described is supposed to work. They execute it well though, and Pierre cheers while Esteban and George clap along happily to their performance. Max takes another sip and bites his lip, still questioning why he can't be this relaxed about this entire thing.

It's not a big deal. They're all making fun of this, it isn't serious, it's fictional work, he's a legal adult. He knows he shouldn't make a big deal out of some fanfiction, he doesn't quite know why he still does.

“Oh my- someone wrote about Lando and Michael!” and Charles sounds way too excited. Daniel blinks and immediately questions why anyone would write that and where that idea even comes from, while Max watches the color drain from Lando's face and the want to drown himself in the pool rise in his eyes. Michael shrugs and blames it on the creativity of some people, and while George and Charles read and Lando's face keeps growing redder and redder by the second, he compliments the style of the writer as if this isn't about him and the guy who's losing his mind next to him on the couch.

“I can't believe you're cheating on me with Lando of all people,” Daniel directs at Michael and acts hurt, putting his hand on his chest where his heart would be and clenching his fingers around the imaginary pain. His performance coach watches him and lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed by the dramatics of his friend.

“I'm pretty sure people wrote stories about the two of you before they had that idea.”

Lando looks like that information doesn't really do much to help him, making his misery worse instead. “I'm not drunk enough for this,” he mumbles, and Michael pats his back comfortingly. Once again, it's not really helpful.

“At least people don't pair me up with Sebastian, unlike Charles,” Lando argues, and Charles turns very quiet, smile immediately disappearing from his face. Pierre chokes on his drink next to him, violently coughing until Esteban carefully hits his back a few times to get the liquor out of his lungs.

“I guess that's our cue to leave,” he says and drags a still teary-eyed, protesting Pierre away with him. George waves goodbye and looks like he pities them both, yet there's a silent mutual agreement that this very much counts as a step in the right direction. Maybe it's the same issue as with him and Esteban, Max thinks. Things are usually not as bad as they're portrayed, and the line between fact-based reality and fictional projection is sometimes thinner than healthy.

Lando leans over to grab ahold of the phone while Charles is still acting as if he's seen a ghost, rambling something along the lines of “why- we would never- I mean, why would people think that we-” with a blush on his cheeks. Max can't really see that either but decides to just let it be for the sake of the satisfaction he feels at seeing Charles once again struggle with how people portray him and his relationships. He lets out an undefinable noise and reaches for his glass to drown his thoughts while Lando scrolls through the website next to him.

“Max's lips feel hot against his own,” Lando begins to read, which already makes Max scrunch his nose because the image it creates in his head isn't the most pleasing one. “...and Charles lets out a moan that-”

“Okay nope, good night.”

Maybe some issues between the drivers aren't entirely made up, Max admits to himself with a quiet snort, watching as Charles gets up and takes the phone away from Lando. He empties his glass before chucking the phone Max's way, _it's still new, asshole_ , and saying his goodbyes, following the way that the others had previously taken to escape as well until he turns a corner and disappears in the building. When Max turns back to look at the others, all four of them are staring at him.

“Hate to see him go but love to watch him leave, or however that saying goes,” he deadpans with a shrug, causing Lando confusion while the Australians laugh, and Daniel's arm is still wrapped around his shoulder, he notices. The Santa hat still looks crooked when George gets up to leave as well.

The four of them keep talking some more, steering away from the main event of the evening and emptying the leftover drinks. They can't waste some seriously good champagne, and that's enough of an argument to share the rest of the bottle with Daniel. Michael still doesn't drink but seems content with his choice, so Max doesn't comment on that and argues about whether cereal is a soup or not with Daniel, getting way too invested into something neither of them actually cares about. He doesn't even know whether he's pro or contra in this discussion.

Michael and Lando leave not too long after, separately, as Lando stresses, leaving Max and Daniel to clean up on their own. Technically they don't have to, seeing as there's hotel staff around to do it, but Max feels a bit guilty for the havoc they caused, so he bullies Daniel into helping him before he's allowed to go to sleep. It doesn't take them that long to pick up all the glasses and empty bottles, rearranging the pillows on the couch as well as possible when they're done, and picking up the towel Alex had dropped when he fled the scene.

“Hold still, you have something there,” Daniel instructs him, and Max stops in his motion with the poorly folded towel still in hand, blinking at the other driver in confusion. Daniel smiles and reaches out for him, carefully removing the Santa hat from his head, and it suddenly feels cooler where the heat has built up over the past hours like he's breathing a bit more freely now. His head is still swimming but that won't die down for another few hours, so Max takes what he can get.

They're still outside on the roof, and the city lights reflect in Daniel's eyes, his face barely illuminated by the pool lights, and he smiles softly. It's not awkward, he's never seriously uncomfortable around Daniel who takes nothing seriously and laughs off the worst mistakes, even the ones that keep Max awake at night sometimes with embarrassment making it hard to breathe, but the silence between them makes Max's heart beat faster.

What are they supposed to do now? Should they- would Daniel-? There aren't any expectations or inevitable actions, and yet Max's hands turn sweaty and he swallows around the lump in his throat, averting his gaze when he feels Daniel's eyes on him. He's too close for Max's taste.

“Why would they make you top if I'm clearly the top?” Max asks to break the silence, and maybe it was the wrong approach because the air still feels too heavy between them. Daniel laughs though, so abruptly and loud that it startles Max before he can smile about what he's said as well. Daniel reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Max is too drunk and tired to complain.

“Oh Maxy, this is a fight you can't win.”

“Is that a challenge?”

And somehow Daniel has gotten even closer now, or maybe it's just the alcohol playing tricks with Max's mind, but he smells like the pool water rum and sunscreen, and something else that could be some generic deodorant if one was creative like that. Max takes a deep breath, mainly to get his own fanfiction-like thoughts back under control.

“Maybe,” Daniel replies, way too close to Max, and his voice is raspy from laughing and yelling all night long, seemingly indifferent about the entire thing. Max shivers and holds his gaze, neither of them willing to back down, and the tension is building, so much that Max doesn't even dare to move a muscle anymore.

He doesn't know what's supposed to happen next, although he has an unsettling feeling in his stomach that foreshadows it, so he simply stares at Daniel who shifts his focus from one eye to the other, still not blinking or moving, or breaking the tension with a dumb smile and an even stupider joke, and he's unsure whether breathing would trigger a reaction neither of them saw coming.

Max's heart is still running a marathon and Daniel in front of him is the sole object of his focus, looking so much more serious than he's looked in Max's presence in a long while, nervously wetting his lips. Max has to break the eye contact to notice that, and when he looks back up, Daniel is frowning slightly, and it's still so goddamn tense and Daniel is so close that he can almost fathom his breath on his own skin. His brain is screaming at him to take a step back to maintain a safer distance, to avoid doing something stupid.

Daniel is so unbelievably close that Max almost closes his eyes before he has to cross them but then he's gone and smiling at Max, patting his shoulder as if nothing has happened, as if what has happened just then and there wouldn't probably make for the best fanfiction material.

“Good night, Maxy,” and then he smiles one last time and disappears with Max's Santa hat in hand and the bobble of his own one wiggling along to his steps, leaving Max to stand there alone, in the evening warmth on the rooftop, suddenly way soberer than he'd like to be, and confused to no end.

It truly is dangerous to not see the lines between fiction and reality and shit, Max is so fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading this not so little oneshot until the end, that genuinely means a lot to me. I hope you've enjoyed it and now get to enjoy the rest of the holidays and the last few days of this very confusing year. 
> 
> To the people who don't read any of my other stuff, I'll already wish you a very happy and healthy new year and I hope I'll see you around next year. Thank you for the unbelievable amount of support this year, I'm eternally grateful for that.
> 
> And thank you, in advance, to everyone who takes the time to leave a kudo or a comment, I love and appreciate all of you a lot. If you want, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://komkommertijd.tumblr.com/) (@komkommertijd) and talk to me there as well, I'm always happy to see you around!
> 
> I'll hopefully see you soon with more shenanigans - until then, stay safe, stay home, and don't kiss your former teammates <3
> 
> I'll see you soon with more shenanigans <3


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